Artemis' apartment was a pretty utilitarian affair – just the essentials and not a lot of sentimental touches. Hermes had probably spent more time in it over the last decade than she had. Up until recently, it had just been a place to crash when she happened to find herself in the city.
Hermes hadn't been around since she'd relocated here full time, but he'd find it hadn't changed much. There was a little more lived-in clutter, a new deer pelt draped over the back of the couch, a metal vase filled with trailing crimson amaranth flowers (love-lies-bleeding, appropriately enough); that was about it.
Artemis herself was settled comfortably on the couch, feet propped on the coffee table, half-watching some dumb survival reality TV show while fiddling with her phone. She sat up straight at the sound of her brother's voice. "What are you doing here?"
She didn't even bother asking how he'd gotten in. Artemis might not be aware of how often he'd availed herself of her place, but she knew full well he'd never let a locked door slow him down in the past.